Sorry, I'm Not Into Bestiality

Chapter 2 -- Do I even have a crucifix?

Chapter 2

"So, Danny..." Dr Lynn began as she placed the steaming hot cup of coffee down onto the table in front of me, smiling comfortingly as she settled into her favourite mustard armchair, "Why the surprise visit? Your next session wasn't scheduled till Tuesday."

I sat forward, lacing my fingers together nervously as soft classical music trickled through from the kitchen. I was struggling to come up with a way to broach the subject, "I--ugh, I was actually hoping you could clear some stuff up for me... about the recent medication change you put me on?"

"Of course," She replied surprised, sipping her coffee, "Fire away."

Dr Lynn had been my therapist for three years now.

Initially, I was issued court mandated counselling in the UK after my discharge. It went well for the first few months, however upon my decision to relocate to the states I was promptly forgotten about by the British government and left to fend for myself. A couple of months into the move, I was barely able to function day-to-day without some sort of help. After much deliberation, I finally bit the bullet and utilised my significant hush-money to invest in a decent private therapist.

Three and a bit years later, there I was. Sat in a well-dressed woman's New York townhouse, sipping well-made coffee and talking about my feelings for the umpteenth time.

Eighteen-year-old me would have laughed at the thought.

Dr Haryath Lynn was a shorth, slender woman in her late fifties. She had cropped black hair and dressed smartly even when home alone. She immigrated from India with her parents in the 1980's and built herself a rather distinguished career before marrying and having children, both of which had since grown and moved on to college to build a life of their own.

Dr Lynn's husband was an architect, and between them they owned a town house in Manhattan that she worked out of. She felt offices could become too clinical, and therefore preferred to deal with her patients from the comfort of her own home; and it worked.

In the years I'd spent visiting her and working on everything that was going on, it had weirdly brought me some comfort to associate such a homely place with healing. It was a safe haven, and I'd gradually built enough trust with Dr Lynn to open up about a fair few things. Things I never thought I'd talk about.

Of course, I couldn't bring up all the details for confidentiality reasons, but she got the general idea of what my previous line of work entailed.

"I was just wondering with the lowering of the dosage, is it possible previous symptoms that weren't there originally could-- I don't know... manifest? Stuff that wasn't a problem before?" I asked, knowingly skirting around the issue. I'd been doing so well, and openly admitting that I was seeing things would set me back further than when I first started. Saying it aloud meant that it was real.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "What sort of symptoms?"

I picked up my cup and took a tentative sip, sitting up straighter in my seat as I paused to answer.

Here goes nothing...

"Is it possible you could hallucinate? As in, see things that aren't there?"

Her face grew stern, "Danny, what happened?"

"... I got mugged on Thursday."

Her eyes widened in genuine concern, "Oh Sweetheart, I'm sorry—"

"—It's fine, I'm okay," I interjected as she went to reach for my hand, "I got away, it's fine. It's just that... when it happened, I could've sworn that I saw the guy's face sort of... contort?"